Angel's Revolver
by GeckoMoriaShadowLord
Summary: SanZo. AU. A lone, forlorn stranger discovered in the night, his speech elegant, lovely, he seems to be of another era. Love happens and heartbreak soon after and Zoro chases after the man into his occulted world of angels, demons, spirits, and vampires
1. Genesis

**Title: **Angel's Revolver

**Pairing: **Sanji x Zoro, others.

**Rating: **M for sexuality, profanity, adult themes

**Summary: **AU. A lone, forlorn stranger discovered in the night, his speech elegant, lovely, he seems to be of another era. Zoro finds himself strangely captivated by the otherworldly aura which permeates the mysterious man. It isn't long before he falls for the man, yet months after they meet, the blond flees at a moment's notice, refusing to explain or promise to return. Not one to stand back and let the man of his life escape, Zoro chases after the blond—only to find himself hopelessly submerged in a preternatural world he had no idea existed; for the handsome stranger belongs to a realm of spirits, demons, angels, vampires, shapeshifters, paranormal creatures, and primordial magick.

**Dedication: **Merry Christmas _**The Wandering Swordsman**_ for being such a wonderful person to talk with. :D You're such an amazing person for participating so enthusiastically and generously in the celebration :3 So the first fic I made was for you. Much love from this crazy-ass idiot. :D

_**Chapter One**_

Genesis

You look at me, and the universe of your eyes tells me everything

You speak to me, and whispering in my ear, ask me if I love you a little

You embrace me, and your words are, "What will happen tomorrow when you have gone?"

Even now, I feel you distant

Tomorrow, love will sleep, and put away her roses until the sun shines

And I tell you, my voice trembling, that time is hurrying

And that day we dream of will come, turn off the light, the night is leaving

-"_Que Pasara Manana", Jose Luis Perales_

~0~

The window was half-open; the armchair, the loveseat, the large, king bed all seemed desolate. The bedroom was cold, abandoned. He had been here for thirteen months or so, but already the furniture seemed unfamiliar and cold. Relics that had no intimate ties to him. It would not hurt to say farewell.

He could feel green eyes on the back of his head. Accusing him, damning him, holding him; or at least attempting to. It was too much; he abruptly turned and left the bedroom, heading towards the small and homely kitchen. The green eyes followed. And there was a whisper of fingertips on his waist as he brushed past. The mute want that sounded louder in his ears than the most screeching wail.

And again, surveying the kitchen in which at least some sort of warmth remained. But the eyes, those eyes, that silence, it was suffocating. He needed to break it, destroy it, annihilate it entirely. Sanji shook his head, gathering his strength, and with a tilt of his blond head, broke the silence which had been thickly accumulating. Broke it forever with the easy-going lilt of his words. With that soft, brazen smile.

"You take care of this here place, all right kid? It's particular with me." Sanji turned around and with a cheerfulness which belied the gravity and moroseness which weighted Zoro down, reached a hand out and jauntily fixed a pan which hung slightly crooked on the wall.

Zoro shook his head, eyes now boring into his, now flicking down to what he was holding in his hand, now glancing with a look just short of desperation at the clock above the mantelpiece. "You know I can't clean and cook. I'm going to mess it up as soon as you walk out the door. " A weak threat. It hurt to hear it. How far gone was this man?

Sanji shrugged and turned to survey his friend again, "Well, can't be helped, can it? It's yours now. It always was. Just take care of it, is all I ask. If I even have the right to say that." He smiled, and patting Zoro's shoulder, brushed past him into the living room. Zoro followed him, padding in his footsteps. He seemed attached to him by some invisible spider's web.

"Are you leaving already? There's still time-" Zoro asked, half in alarm as Sanji placed a contemplative hand on the handle of his suitcase and glanced at the large grandfather in the living room.

He shook his head, "No, I know. I was just…"

They stared at each other, faces only so far apart. Sanji narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to gauge Zoro. Zoro stared back nakedly, dark green eyes wide and exposed.

The thick, pregnant air hung between them and Sanji knew, _understood _that Zoro was going to speak and so kill himself. He waited, calmly, for the plea and for his subsequent rejection. Waited for the end of the world, the end which he knew had to come someday when he first peered up at this man's face and fell into his eyes.

Zoro held out a hand, palm up in a silent plea, "…please."

It was a cracked whisper issued from fleeting lips. Hanging, spinning, crystallizing between them. So fragile a request, so utterly pathetic and sincere.

Sanji shook his head mutely, eyes trained on Zoro's. On those wide, green, unhappy eyes. He understood Zoro's pain, sympathized. But what must be, must be. So it was writ. He had to return, return home. They were calling him back, and he _must_ go. He had left because to have remained would have driven him insane; but now it was no longer just him. He knew from the beginning that his freedom had been short-lived. Fragile and transparent. The chains that held him fast could stretch, but not break,

Zoro didn't understand any of this, knew nothing of it, and so pleaded, "Sanji…please. Please don't _go_."

It hung there, stagnating. Holding them and rotting softly. Sanji could feel the heavy weight of the request on his chest, sitting there unfairly.

Zoro reached out and traced a hand down the lapels of his suit; Sanji remained motionless, his face wooden.

"Zoro. _I'm going_. I have to. We talked. You agreed. I leave in thirty minutes. Less. Twenty five. My plane is scheduled, my ticket bought, my shit packed. I'm not changing my mind now."

He paused and when he spoke again, his tone was softer, but none the less determined for that. He knew that his blue eyes and rough lips were cutting the man to pieces, but there was nothing he could do. Sanji's hand went to the hand on his chest and gently returned it to its owner. He said, softly-

"Give up."

~0~

Yes, here it was. That old, disgusting feeling. That feeling of bitter pity and a heartbreak which throbbed unceasingly. Sanji looked at him with an air of a man who has made his mind up and plans to keep it made up. There was no contempt in that warm blue gaze, nor was there annoyance or pity; but it hurt all the same. The blue eyes were open, confidant, fearless.

Zoro wasn't sure what to do.

It infuriated and frightened him. He, Zoro, who had always been determined, resourceful, intelligent. The man whom everyone depended on and admired. This person in front of him could undo him with just the tilt of his head, with just one slow, charming, stomach-flopping smile. Could annihilate him with the sudden, unexpected announcement that he was leaving, leaving now, leaving with no clear idea as to when he would be back if he _ever_ would.

Just a goodbye, it was nice while it lasted. I'm sorry _you_ fell in love with _me_, I'm sorry_ I_ fell in love with _you_. I hate hurting you but I have to go. I have to leave tomorrow, immediately. No, I can't tell you. You wouldn't understand, love, no, sorry, I meant,_ Zoro_. It's complicated, I don't want you involved.

Just, try not to remember the color of my eyes. Try not to remember how you bit my shoulder when you came for the first time all over my stomach. Try not to remember what my hair looks like when the morning sunlight hits it and makes it shine like gold on the pillow and how you like to kiss it when you think I am asleep.

Try not to remember how you cried when I entered you and how you smiled, wobbly, when I kissed the back of your neck in consolation. Try not to remember the first time you cried out my name and the first time you whimpered for someone else.

Try not to remember that. It's in the past. There are more like me out there. I'm sure you'll find the right one. Someone who won't leave you like this.

Yes, I did love you. Why do you ask?

He looked at Sanji, all the memories and all the scenes from the beginning of their relationship, their tumultuous and strange relationship shuffling and blurring through the very recesses of his soul. Shuffling and blurring. Shuffling and blurring until he couldn't think any more. Couldn't think and could only blurt out the desperation, wretched soul that he was.

"You…you're still leaving?" he half-asked, half-demanded. "After everything...after everything we've done…you think it's perfectly all right to just up and leave?" Hands, with no volition of their own, reached up and fisted in that stark, immaculate suit.

Sanji only looked at him. Blue eyes so beautiful, so gorgeous. Blue like the ocean, blue like the sky, blue like heartbreak, cold ice.

"Say something." Zoro said curtly, spitting the words out, knowing they were coming out harsher than he wanted them to be. Had ever intended them to be.

"I said everything that was needed to be said already. I said it last night. I said-"

"You said _shit_. I don't know what kind of mystery you're involved in that you can't even tell me where the hell you're going. You won't even tell me what it's about or why you're doing what you're doing! You don't even know if you're coming back; you won't even give me a _yes _or a_ no_ when I ask you if you're going to call me!"

Sanji looked at him calmly, refusing to be drawn into the rant, "I'm not saying it again Zoro. Understand. That's all I'm asking you to do." He glanced at the clock again, and Zoro felt his temper raise a notch even as his sorrow peaked.

"Understand? How the hell am I going to just be okay with you leaving? I fucking met you a year or so ago, and I gave you everything I fucking had!" Zoro growled, the red in his cheeks suffusing his entire body with heat, "You took my…you took me and I _let _you. I let you do _that_ to me; I let you do everything you wanted to me. I _gave_ you my body. My fucking trust-I loved you-I _love _you-_why the hell are you leaving! Fuck you too!"_

Suddenly, shame prevented him from saying _sex._ And that hurt. It hurt.

Sanji's hands went around his back as he sagged unconsciously into the warm, distant, familiar body and buried his head in the juncture where neck kissed shoulder. The black of Sanji's suit darkened to pitch with the silent, flowing lamentations.

He said hoarsely, "I'll miss you."

~0~

Sanji slid his hands across his naked torso and Zoro gasped at the sudden intrusion into his much guarded personal space.

"Sanji?"

"_Who else would be here in the middle of the night?" the blond murmured into the curve of his ear, amused. _

Zoro let out a relieved sigh and his hand went to the one on his stomach. "I thought you left."

"_I did."_

Zoro turned around from where he had been peering sightlessly into the fridge and saw nothing. There had never been anyone there. Already it had been five hours since the most important man in his life had walked out without so much as an explanation and already he was experiencing withdrawal symptoms. He cursed and, tears stinging his eyes, went back to bed. The empty bed. Everywhere it hurt.

The bed Sanji would never sleep in again; the kitchen he would never cook in again; the sofa he would never again lounge in. The shower were they would never make love again. Damn it all.

The bed was cold when he returned to it. It had given up its warmth.

~0~

"Are you okay?" he asked, cautious. He wasn't a man to mingle, nor one to go out of his way to hear some guy's tearjerker story. It wasn't that he was a bad man or even an apathetical one. He was simply a shy person, naturally quiet, prone to blush if thrown under the limelight, and more comfortable with a sword than with a person.

Which is why he was having doubts about approaching the man in the first place.

But the guy had caught his attention. Ragged blond hair and aqua eyes filled with desolation. Too many vodka bottles at his feet. Too close to the edge of the building. The guy looked like a homeless business man who had gone homeless after he had lost it all on the stock market. The suit was nicely cut, and the shoes were nice. But they were all ragged, like the man himself.

Zoro had just exited the large mall and walked on one of the connecting bridges to where he had parked his car on the fifth and highest level of the parking lot complex. He had been walking, carrying the bag of his purchases, when he spotted the crumpled figure.

The guy was gorgeous. But the thin frame, the haunted gaze, the cigarette between pale lips. He looked more like a vampire than a model. There was that intense loneliness which seemed to envelop his broad, gaunt frame. The aquamarine eyes which looked afar and saw things that no mortal should be able to see.

Zoro couldn't help but approach, feeling stupid and shy. "…Are you okay?" He coughed out, feeling worms of apprehension bury their way into his heart.

The guy didn't turn, didn't bat an eye, did not so as much acknowledge that Zoro was there.

He took a deep breath, "Hey. Mister? You look pretty damn bad if you don't mind me saying."

No response.

Zoro drew closer, feeling the tension tightening in his stomach. _What the hell's wrong with this guy?_ And reached out and tentatively touched the man's shoulder.

The guy finally rolled his head back, head cocking, eyes bored and slightly irritated, their sapphire irises iridescent.

That was the first moment Zoro understood that there was something preternatural about the man. Something beyond the normal. Something damned.

Those eyes looked too beautiful to be human. There seemed to be oceans swimming within them. Entire worlds. And the man's skin, beautiful. Flawless. The hair, spun gold.

"You just won't give up will you? I tried ignoring you the first two times, but then you had to go and put your dirty mugs on me." the guy said, contempt lacing his words. "Piss off. I'm not some ho. Get your action somewhere else."

That had pissed Zoro off. He never liked starting confrontations, never liked beating brows with some other person. But something about that rakish, condescending smile irritated him. "Hey, I just wanted to see if you were all right, no need to get on your high horse when it's obvious you're drunk and contemplating suicide."

"Who said I was-

Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep-

Zoro slammed the alarm clock on his bed side. Dreaming. He was dreaming of when he had met Sanji. His hand reached up, already knowing, and wiped the wet marks from under his eyes.

The day was going to be hell.

~0~

**A/N: Thank you for enjoying the meal of my mind. Now…pay me, please. **


	2. Stellar Arrival

_**Chapter Two**_

Stellar Arrival

No one ever told me when I was alone , they just thought I'd know better, better  
The hardest part, this troubled heart, has ever yet been through now  
Was heal the scars, that got their start, inside someone like you now  
For had I known, or I'd been shown, back when how long it'd take me  
To break the charms, that brought me harm, and all but would erase me  
I never won, or thought I could, no matter what you'd pay me  
Replay the part, you stole my heart, I should have known you're crazy  
If all I knew, was that with you I'd want someone to save me  
It'd be enough, but just my luck I fell in love and maybe  
All that I wanted was, now I know you better  
You know I know better, now I know you better  
So bittersweet, this tragedy, won't ask for absolution  
This melody, inside of me, still searches for solution  
A twist of faith, a change of heart, cures my infatuation  
A broken heart, provides the spark, for my determination  
No one ever told me when, I was alone, they just thought I'd know better, better

_-"Better", Guns n Roses _

~0~

Work was the same, as it always was. Never mind that he had lost whatever passed for his life last night. His eyes were sightless, looking beyond the crates and boxes and shipments and materials which didn't matter anymore. He just did what he was paid to and moved them. Mindless movements of a man who had no heart, no soul, nothing left.

Jimbei, his boss, grunted deeply as he picked up a crate and shook it lightly, testing to see if anything was broken inside, "Zoro, I think this one's fine. Does it look fine to you?"

The words came through a fog, barely registering, and he mumbled something in return, "What? Oh, yeah…it's fine. It looks fine."

And just like that, he was back. It seemed that the world had lost its ridged infrastructure in one night, in one farewell. But who was he to complain? Wasn't a world that had passed forever, a world which would never return, a world which was lost in time—wasn't it a world which was preferable to a world in which _he_ wasn't? Zoro thought so.

Contrary to what would have been popularly thought, this hadn't been a charming fairy-tale. The way it had started, things should have spiraled deeper and deeper into something straight out of a mental institution. In fact, now that he thought about it—hadn't this ending been perfect for a beginning like that?

It was just like his dream. He had been at the West Blue Mall, picking up something, maybe it had been shoes, maybe it had been a few dress shirts, maybe he had picked up some weights at Fitness World. Did it really matter? All he remembered was that he had been walking across one of the bridges that connected the mall proper to the higher levels of the accompanying parking complex. There had been a bag swinging from his closed hand and the night had been sufficiently lighted to make the streetlights unnecessary. A breeze flapped the collar of his shirt.

And then, some random man sitting with his legs over the cement wall, balancing precariously on the concrete safety barrier, too many glass bottles lines around him and littered underneath him. Nice looking guy with pretty blond hair and good shoulders beneath his ragged suit. Handsome.

He wouldn't have done anything. He shouldn't have done anything that night. Zoro probably still couldn't have come up with an answer as to why he did what he did. He had never been one to strut into another's business, especially if the business looked as dirty and complicated as the one this man looked like he was caught in. There were only a few reasons as to why a person would be drawn to drinking on the seventh level of a parking complex at such a late hour.

But hell, he had walked up to the man as if he had been used to that sort of thing. At the moment it had been cautious, purely humanitarian. The guy was obviously not going to live to see the sun come up or the moon go down if the idiot continued to wallow in whatever angst he was determined to flounder in. It wouldn't be long before he began to think he could fly—if Zoro rightly recognized the brand of the glass bottles—or began to think the world was playfully spinning him around and around. Then he would lurch forward, have a second to wonder if he was really flying, and then there would be a mess to clean up and a small obituary in the newspaper the next day. Nothing special.

"Hey mister—are you okay?" He asked, unsure with himself, unsure of the whole situation. Feeling like a bit of a snobby ass calling anyone, '_mister'. _This question had elicited some snappy retort after Zoro had prodded the man a few more times, he didn't quite remember how the first few minutes of their discourse had gone.

But he remembered the annoyance he had felt, remembered that quite clearly. It had flashed through his trepidation and slight daze. The blond had been impertinent, annoying.

"Piss off, I'm not your ho." The blond smirked and Zoro flushed, a small part of him mortified that he even _looked_ like he wanted to pick this man up.

He started off heatedly, blood warm in his tan cheeks, "You look like you're going to commit—"

The stranger cut him off; proud, lazy smile on his lips, "Did I say it right? "_Piss off, I'm not your ho?—_"

The blond stopped in mid-smile and snapped; "Who said I was going to commit suicide!" the moon was bright enough so that Zoro could see the quirk of anger corkscrew through his features. Grayish eyes which Zoro knew would be big and blue in the daylight, glared at him. The unnaturally beautiful alabaster skin was enticing; a glaring contrast to the ragtag clothes and punk attitude the blond was sporting. Flawless skin, handsome features, a face which looked like it belonged to a Michelangelo angel.

"You're drinking on the seventh level of a building. One bad move and you're going to splatter the pavement," he said coldly, fast regretting his decision to interfere, as much as that face and skin and those eyes attracted him. He regretted speaking up, but he couldn't leave. It was like he had been caught in some web, ensnared and held captive by his own will. His eyes refused to tear themselves away from the man's.

And then, that was when things began to twist, to stretch, to distort themselves.

The blond's annoyance had seemed to fade and now Zoro saw himself looking into a face filled with an amusement that just barely covered the pathetic desperation underneath. The blond smiled indulgently, "But hold, suicide does not sound so awful when I think about it. I would attempt it again if I had not been in a world of hurt last time I jumped off the Cliffs of Dover to see what would happen."

_/The guy's drunk. Absolutely drunk./_

He moved forward cautiously and nudged the large glass bottle underneath the seated man; it tipped over easily and rolled emptily. Captain Morgan's Coconut Rum.

"Sir, I think you should get off that ledge and go home," he said and nudged a few more bottles with his foot, all clinked hollowly. The guy must have been so drunk that he had spilled all of his booze—no one could drink so much and still be talking. _He_ couldn't drink that much and he was no lightweight when it came to liquor.

"Oh, away with you!" The blond cried lightly, happily, and waved a hand in his direction, "All I hear is blah-blah-blah from you. I came here to drink and watch the moon and enjoy the view and now I have a Sir Nobody bothering me about the relative safety of drinking rum on the ledge of a building. Oh, God, take this man away!"

Zoro frowned, liking less and less the carefree, jocular attitude which most likely came straight from Captain Morgan and again, he reached out and placed a restraining hand on the man's coated shoulder, "Look—I'm not leaving. I don't want to read your name in the newspaper followed by dates and the name of the funeral directory which was so nice to scrape you off the sidewalk with a spatula."

The man roared with laughter and Zoro nearly flinched as the man threw his head back and let the mirth course straight from his heels, "_My obituary_! You think you'll read my _obituary_! What an oxymoron! My friend, you are so utterly oblivious that I find it quite charming! Forgive me my amusement—for it is a cause of your astounding ignorance." The blond held on to his ledge and gave another breathless laugh.

Zoro raised an eyebrow, once again slightly surprised at the tone, the elegance of the man's speech. This was Los Angeles, where 'fuck you buddy' was the 'see you tomorrow' of the city. This man spoke like an Emily Bronte novel. Where was he from? His clipped, accented voice was obviously foreign.

_/It could be the drink. Beer pulls the weirdest shit out of people—I should know. He probably thinks he's living in 1600 London, at the court of King James the three-hundredth. Oh, crap, what do I _do_ with this mess I've gotten myself into?/_

There wasn't much to do except reach out an attempt to pry the blond off the ledge like some unwanted praying mantis glued to the leaf of a rose plant. Zoro fitted his hands underneath the man's armpits and tugged him down, momentarily surprised at the lack of resistance the blond man gave him since it had seemed he'd have to move hell and high water to get the man to see reason.

But no, the blond gentleman—for Zoro was already coming to think of him in terms of a gentleman—allowed him to slide off the ledge. Zoro, sensing that the blond could still support himself, dropped him hurriedly and stepped away.

And now they stood there, the stranger looking at him candidly, questioningly, while he scratched the back of his neck and hemmed and hawed and demonstrated his ignorance as what to do next. The blond saved him with an impatient, "Well?"

"Well…what?" He flushed immediately, annoyed at his own incoherence. It wasn't that he was a Paleolithic caveman, it was just that he had no clue as to where to proceed from here. It wasn't like he had ever _been_ in one of these situations before.

The stranger looked at him pointedly, "Well my good sir, now that you have _rescued _me, you shall go on your merry way and I will patiently wait until I have seen the last of you and then I shall resume my perch on this wonderful shelf." The blond gestured magnanimously at the cement ledge, as if it was the balcony of his opulent mansion, "So shoo, shoo."

_/He can't be drunk. No one drunk can be that articulate. Those bottles must have been left by someone else. He's sober./_

He turned to leave. Embarrassed at his mistake.

_/Sober people can suicide too. It's not against the law, idiot./ _

He froze, and turned slowly.

_/Why do I even care? Because I saw him and I saw what he was up to and if he winds up dead it's partly my responsibility for not saying anything—/ _

"Jesus!"

The blond was gone.

_/He's jumped! He's jumped while my back was turned! Holy—/ _

Images of a freefalling man, arms pinwheeling wildly as he laughed and screamed his way down the hundred or so feet of the building exploded into his mind. The scene was so real that he was rushing to the ledge, shoulders hunched in anticipation of the gut wrenching crunch, neck craning over the ledge to see—

"Over here you big dolt. My lord, I have never set eyes on such a gullible individual as yourself."

_/That—/_

"_Screw you, you piece of shit! I thought you jumped and killed your stupid self!" _He snapped furiously, cheeks heated with the embarrassment, outraged that the blond could treat the situation so casually and pull a morbid joke like that. To have interfered with this joker's life had been a mistake, an utter mistake. Let the man play his tricks alone, he had had enough. He shook his head in disgust, making sure that the other saw his irritation.

Zoro stalked off after snatching up his bags, head down, shoulders hunched, the back of his hand pressed against one cheek so that the cool skin could dissipate the heat from his face. A little bit of him wanted to land a fist into the blond's stomach to teach him a thing or two. But no, better not to waste his time.

And just as he had relaxed the tense muscles in his back, Zoro realized, with horror, that the blond stranger was _following_ him. He ignored the dramatic footsteps, loud and noisy enough so it was obvious that the blond wanted to be heard.

_/This can't be happening./ _

He was nearly racing to his car, desperate to get away. Zoro didn't fear a mug or a rape—the very thought was ludicrous—but his instincts were telling him to run and run fast.

_/I can't hear him anymore. Gone? Hopefully./_

The keys were out, and a quick glance behind him in the dark parking garage assured him that the stranger in the ragged suit was nowhere in sight. Zoro sighed in relief and slowed his rapid jog to a brisk walk. His car—a cheap, mediocre Toyota—was only a few feet away, its rims shining mellowly in the fluorescent light.

_/Good, he's gone. He just did that to freak me out. Damn, it worked./ _

His heart was still thumping slightly and when he thrust the key into the door slot, his hands trembled slightly, the result of so many abused nerves. And then he was sliding inside the dark interior, tossing his bags unceremoniously into the back.

The blond man stared at him from the shotgun seat, a strange pinpoint of light reflected in the sockets of his eyes, and Zoro, before his heart lurched in shock, noticed that he had even put his seat belt on.

"We meet again," the blond intruder purred and stretched out his legs to prop them on the dashboard.

~0~

He flicked off the car engine and let it tick in the silence of the little sheltered parking spot which the apartment complex had graciously given him. The man beside him lolled comfortably in his seat, seat belt everywhere but where it should be.

A quick glance in the mirror assured him that his green hair was still green and had not turned pure white from the shock he had suffered when he had seen the stranger in the familiar sear. After a second of pure and concentrated fright and one in which his jaw had dropped and smacked the pavement below, he had barked out, "How the hell—"

"Your door was unlocked, fool," the stranger said casually, running his pale hand down the lengths of his legs to sharpen the crease line in the legs of his slacks so that it stood to attention crisply. "If you continue to be so careless then one day someone will steal this gas-carriage of yours."

_/gas carriage?/ _

"How—How did you _know_ _this was my car_! And that's bullshit! I locked it when I left, I know I did!" He could only sputter and stare, mind blank. He refused to get in his car with the baffling stranger and the annoyance was back, full force. Who did this suicidal drunkard think he was? Zoro had only wanted to stop him from taking his own life; he had absolutely _no_ intention of picking the guy up no matter how pretty his eyes were and how lithe his body looked under that torn and ragtag suit.

"Well, I saw you heading towards _this_ horseless buggy and I just barely beat you—and I do not know about that, I just know that this door was unlocked when I got here," the stranger patted the closed passenger door beside him in satisfaction.

"_I didn't even see you!" _ Zoro snapped, hands curling in irritation, the blunt keys digging in the skin of his hands. His heart still thumped with adrenaline and his muscles quivered slightly. It pissed him off. And the fact that the man's strange form of naming things was unnerving him. If the man had been wearing a coattail frock and tight white breeches, Zoro would have believed him to be an apparition from another century. Perhaps he was from an obscure European country the size of Los Angeles—Romania, Bulgaria, Transylvania, somewhere where automobiles were seldom seen and called by archaic names.

The blond just smiled mysteriously, "I am quiet. That is all. And you must not have locked it properly—for how else would I be here? Perhaps you should take the matter to your family locksmith—the one you have does not seem to be a trustworthy proprietor." The blond carefully examined his fingernails and buffed them gently on the lapel of his suit; if he was aware that he had said something quite out of the ordinary, he gave no sign. Either that was how he naturally talked—or he was the best poker player in the universe.

Zoro stared at the man, hoping to see one sign of inebriation, hoping beyond hope that he could tie the empty vodka bottles to the man's bizarre behaviors. But the stranger sat calmly, giving nothing away, and finally Zoro growled, "Whatever. I don't care. Just—get out of my car. Now."

"No, I do not think so," the stranger said softly, and Zoro swore he could see sardonic amusement dancing in the glimmer of light in his eyes, "You did not seem to mind interjecting your vulgar self into _my_ life. Let us see how you enjoy _my_ unwanted company, hmm?"

"There's a _difference,"_ Zoro said sharply, vein throbbing in his forehead, "I wasn't planning on offing myself!"

The blond looked puzzled, Zoro saw the slight pucker appear in that flawless forehead, and that's when the strange _sensation_ slipped through his body. He felt it, like phantom fingers had gently opened his head and rummaged through his mind. There was a sense of _shuffling_ and of _shifting_ in the reaches of his mind. And for some reason, he thought again—

_/offing/_

_/killing oneself/ _

It would only be until later he analyzed the feeling, the insidious, invasive sensation. And it would be months later until he understood exactly what it had been and why it had happened. But at the moment, all he felt was a brief moment of nausea, and a strange ripple of his very psychology.

Zoro shook his head briefly and re-focused on the man in the shotgun seat who should not have been there but was there nevertheless and who had said something that he had missed. "What?"

The blond stranger smiled, "I said—I was not planning on taking my own life tonight either, gentleman. I am still rather vexed that you interrupted me in a precious moment of solitude. Do not dare to think that I have forgiven you. This is _my_ revenge."

He was already walking rapidly to the other side, intent on pulling the man out by force and throw him on the pavement if he was forced to. This was a violation of his private property after all. Zoro had just wanted to help the man—and even if it had turned out that no help had been needed—then there still was no need for the guy to take it into his head to vindicate himself for whatever reasons.

His hand closed on the cold handle and jerked the polished chrome piece up. Locked. He should have known. Zoro raised furious eyes to meet the man's behind the glass. The stranger looked at him, smiling gently, and slowly shook his head.

"Open up," he said loudly, enough for the anger in his voice to diffuse through the glass and rapped his knuckles on the glass.

The man shook his head and waved his hand, asking for his return to the driver's seat.

"I'm not joking. Open this damn door and get out. I want to go home," he said tersely, and futilely jerked the handle up again a few times.

The same shake of blond hair. The same beckoning wave.

"If you're a man, open up and come out."

This time, the stranger threw back his head and laughed.

Zoro flushed, and stalked back to his side and once he was once again face to face with the hijacker, he said softly, "What the hell do you want? Money? I'm a fencing teacher during the school year and a box-mover in the summer and school breaks. I barely have anything."

"I do not want _money_," the blond parasite said, grinning, "I just want _you_ to see how it is when someone throws themselves unwanted, onto another's life. Not very enjoyable is it?"

"All right," he threw up his hands, the lanyard of keys still clutched in one hand, "I was just trying to help you because it looked like you were going to pitch head-first onto the cement, but next time—I'll avoid trying to help people, happy? I'm sorry—now, out of my car." He glared at the man.

"No." This time the blond turned away from him and stared out the window dreamily.

"Why the hell _not?"_ Zoro breathed, clutching his hair with his fingers. "Give me one good reason I should let you inside and not call the police."

The man shrugged, "Because I have nowhere to go?"

Zoro froze, "You're…homeless?" He didn't doubt it; the suit hinted to the level of poverty of the man. Maybe be had been foreclosured and forced out onto the streets. A tentative wave of sympathy rose up half-heartedly and he crushed it ruthlessly. It wouldn't do to show weakness and thus encourage this stranger.

"Homeless?" The blond repeated and then nodded, "Yes, I am without a home. I have nowhere to go and nowhere to return to…" The blond sighed, "Everywhere I turn; I do not belong. This large village is no different."

_/large village? Does he mean Los Angeles?/_

"Are—Are you foreign?" he asked, hating that the question sounded like he was interested when in reality, all he wanted to be was reassured that the man wasn't insane.

"That I am, gentleman," the stranger smiled, "I was born on the Old Continent. Europe. A small country that you have never heard of and whose name most English can't pronounce."

_/So that explains all the weird words./_

Zoro chewed at his lip and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't want to bring this stranger home. The guy was a complete and utter unknown. He could be a murderer, a psychotic killer who preyed on civilians. But the man was currently commandeering his car and claiming that he had nowhere else to go. The only thing he could do was call the police or attempt to forcefully evict the man from his side of the car. The thought did not appeal to him.

"I don't get it," he said, throwing up his hands, "What the hell do you want? I said I was sorry! And there's nothing I can do about your situation as much as I regret it. Will you _please_ leave?" He glared at man.

"Cannot I sleep at your house?" The stranger asked, grinning widely, "I am sure you have board enough. Everybody in this country is as rich as King Midas. Do not tell me you cannot afford it."

"That's not the point. The point _is_ that I don't _know_ you," he said emphatically, "I'm not just going to let a complete stranger into my house or my _car_—you can do anything! How am I supposed to trust you? I can't!"

"I give you my word." The blond placed a hand over his suit's breast pocket, "I mean no ill will towards you and your kind."

"My kind?"

"Yes," the blond smiled at him, "Your wife, your many children, your chief steward, your servants and vassals, your countless serfs—"

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed, "Where are you getting this? I have no idea where you came from, but here in America, we don't have anything like that! I live by myself."

"By yourself!" The blond said, eyes widening, "How ever do you manage handling your estate?"

"I don't have an estate! I live in an apartment! Dude—you're insane."

The blond looked shocked, "But—But your family? Where do all your relatives live if not your castle?"

"_Castle?"_ Zoro barked out laughter, and he was amused in spite of himself, "This isn't Europe—this is Los Angeles. And reality check—this is two thousand eleven. You sound like you're from the fifteen hundreds and it's freaking me out," Zoro swung into his car, shaking his head. He didn't care—he was going to drive home and leave the guy locked up in the car if he had too. He started the car.

"Two thousand eleven," the blond murmured dreamily, "Delightful year. Year of the Rabbit."

"Right," he said, backing out of the parking spot, "Are you going to tell me that you didn't know what year it was."

"No, I knew. I am just surprised at how quickly time flies."

"Right…And you know I'm just going to leave you in the car."

"Well, then I will just sleep in here. It is comfortable and better than the ground. It is quite cold."

And now they were here. The engine of his Toyota ticked off the seconds. Silence reined.

"Look, dude, I have no freaking idea who you—"

He stopped, momentarily dizzied by the tilting sensation which swayed the world. The _sensation_ was back, slightly weaker. Shuffling, rippling fingers in his mind, in his memories. Zoro placed a steady hand on the wheel and continued, "—are. I can't let you sleep in my house! I mean, you can rob me, kill me when I'm asleep, how the hell am I supposed to just take your word? Sure I feel bad for you, but you have to understand the circumstances."

"I give you my word of honor, my charming—dude," the blond stranger said and tipped his head in a little bow, "I swear upon my code of chivalry and the good name of my forbearers that I will not lay a hand on your worldly possessions nor on your sacred self."

_/This man is stone-cold crazy./ _

_/No, he's just absurdly foreign. It's kind of cute./_

"That's not enough for me to let you in my house," he said, gritting his teeth, "Can't you understand that? Even with your _word of honor_."

The stranger shrugged, "What a strange country and what a strange manner of living! What is a man without his word of honor? What is a man without his dignity? You must not value your honor that much if you do not trust another man's. Well, what can I do? I'll sleep in this carriage of yours." The blond shifted around, looking as if he fully intended to make good his threat to sleep in the car.

_/I can't believe this is happening./ _

Zoro was horrified to feel his resolve weakening. Was he really so scared of this blond ragamuffin that he wouldn't allow him a floor to sleep on? Did he really not attach any importance to his word?

_/But!/ _

Why not let the stranger in? It wasn't like he would mind much if the blond tried to steal the potatoes in the pantry or the toilet paper underneath the sink. Zoro really didn't have many valuables to his name. Why not let the stranger in and see where this ridiculous farce ended up? Why not let a little excitement into his life?

He sighed, "Well, _fine_. I'll let you in, but you need to tell me who the hell you are!"

A smile lit up the man's face; and Zoro saw a twinkle of white teeth, "You may call me Sanji Schwarzbein, my esteemed sir," the stranger said cheerfully and placed a white hand on the lapels of his suit, "Absolutely charmed to meet your acquaintance."

"Right," he grunted, and swung his door out, "The name's Roronoa. Zoro Roronoa. You're sleeping in the floor Sanji."

~0~

The stranger was full of questions. As soon as Zoro had stepped out of his Toyota and grabbed his almost-forgotten purchases, the blond had whistled in admiration as he glanced down the row of sheltered parking spaces which lined up in front of the apartment building.

"How can you say that you are not wealthy? Look at all your carriages!"

_/Carriages?/ _

Zoro strode off, "They're not all mine. I have no _idea_ what the hell goes on in your mind. And we call them _cars_ here in the United States."

"I see."

When the blond had caught up to him, he glanced over, "You're German aren't you? Your last name is German."

"Oh, so you speak the old language?" The blond asked, smiling, "Well, it is a German name, yes, but its roots are much older. _Much _older. I would say, primordial."

"Hm. But no, I only took a few classes in college. I barely remember anything of it. Your name…black…something?" He twirled his lanyard in his hand and unlocked the front door, passing through and holding the door open for his strange guest.

"Black leg. I am impressed."

Zoro flipped the lights, throwing the apartment into clean, yellow light. He tossed his bag on the counter and padded into the small kitchen, "I'm going to make me some eggs—can I get you something?"

"I would like some sausage, if you have any." The blond settled in one of the chairs and propped his hands on the table.

_/he's getting comfortable…/_

Zoro crushed the annoyance and set himself to making a small evening snack. He cracked the eggs and beat them in a small bowl, mulling over the situation. With a free hand he twisted the stovetop's dials and let the small flame woosh out.

"_Holy God!" _

He jerked, nearly dropping the bowl with the eggs, and turned to glare at the man. "_What the—_what!"

The blond man stared at him, "How did you _do_ that!" His blue eyes flicked to the stovetop and back to him.

Zoro stared, "…do what?"

"The—the fire! How'd that happen!"

"What the hell's your problem?" he snapped and turned back to the oven, heart still thumping, "Haven't you ever seen an _oven_ before? You know, we _cook _with this!"

The nausea overwhelmed him; his gorge rose up, hot and bubbly and sour and he choked it down, hands flying to the countertop to steady himself. His head throbbed as if in the throes of a migraine, except this was a rippling migraine, a headache which moved and slithered across his lobes. And his vision _doubled_, he felt like he was seeing through two minds, thinking through two minds, feeling the worn counter with two sets of hands and two sets of sensory neurons.

He saw the plain, innocent stove in front of him as he had always seen it, but for some reason he felt small feelers of fright and panic grip him as he looked at the mundane black dials. And thoughts whirled through this mind—unbidden, uncalled for—

_/oven, stovetop/_

_/safe, it's safe, modern human invention/_

_/fire from a hidden gas/_

_/used to cook/_

Zoro hacked out a few, dry coughs and forced the nausea from his mind; through it all, the green, digital clock on the stove had not moved one minute forward.

"Sorry—Sorry, I've been feeling sick for a while now," he said, turning to the other man who was sitting bolt-upright staring at him, "I guess we won't be eating tonight. I'm going to crash tonight—I think I caught the bug or something."

The blond's eyes scanned his face, "You are…going to sleep?"

"Right," he answered, and quickly put the beaten eggs back in the refrigerator, still feeling a little dizzy, "You can sleep on the couch or wherever. You can find a quilt in the storage closet thing over there, all right? I'm going to sleep. Night."

"Thank you for your hospitality Sir Roronoa," the man called after him, his voice silky. Zoro didn't turn, but he saw the blond bow him out of the dining room.

~0~

_/Weird guy. Really, really odd./_

Lying awake in his empty bed, snuggled underneath covers with a cooling pack nestled on his forehead. The nausea and the dizziness had passed almost immediately as soon as he had closed the door to his room and locked it for good measure. Maybe it had just been a brief, arbitrary moment of isolated vertigo? It happened to the best of them.

_/I have a random stranger sleeping on my couch. A guy who's so foreign that he doesn't know what cars or ovens are. Holy shit…did I even tell him what a sofa is? Hopefully he'll figure it out./_

Zoro hadn't even asked him how the hell he had managed to arrive on the brink of a wall, minutes away from a hundred foot plunge—from some European country.

_/I've never been one for talking…But I need to know more about this dude./ _

The stranger had a strange way of speaking. Formal, elegant, archaic. He must be businessman whose European company had caved out and he had come to America to recuperate his fortunes. Only to find a culture completely beyond anything he had ever expected and so had sunk into depression.

_/A businessman who's never seen a car?/ _

_/No, don't assume. He just calls them weird names…horseless buggies…gasless carriages./_

He snorted laughter.

_/What the hell do I do with him…?/ _

_/He's handsome./ _

_/No…he's very handsome./ _

He sighed and turned over. He would deal with it tomorrow. Tonight, the sandman would take him away.

The Sandman, that night, brought him strange dreams. Beautiful creatures, clothed in bright silks, triple wings spiraling out from erect backs, danced through the ambiguous marshes of his mind while hoofed imps watched jealously in the shadows. He wandered among them, confused.

But then, REM passed, and he slept soundly.

~0~

_**A/N: For reading, and for reviewing, I thank you, good reader. **_


	3. Symphony of Beauty

**Chapter Three**

Symphony of Beauty

I found God on the corner of 1st and Amistad  
Where the West was all but won  
All alone, smoking his last cigarette  
I said, "Where you been?" He said, "Ask anything"  
Where were you when everything was falling apart?  
All my days were spent by the telephone that never rang  
And all I needed was a call that never came  
To the corner of 1st and Amistad  
Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me  
Lying on the floor surrounded, surrounded  
Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you?  
Just a little late, you found me, you found me  
But in the end everyone ends up alone  
Losing her, the only one who's ever known  
Who I am, who I'm not and who I wanna be  
No way to know how long she will be next to me  
The early morning, the city breaks  
And I've been calling for years and years and years and years  
And you never left me no messages  
You never sent me no letters  
You got some kind of nerve taking all I want!  
Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you?  
Just a little late, you found me, you found me!  
Why'd you have to wait to find me, to find me?

-_"You Found Me", The Fray_

~0~

He abandoned the suitcases at the mouth of the first alleyway he found after he took as many rights and lefts in the streets of the city as he could get away with without the driver becoming suspicious. He did not need them. The only thing he kept was the midnight blue suit which he had been wearing when he had fled the house of his mortal lover like a thief in the night.

Sanji leaned drunkenly on the brick wall, feeling the rough surface caress him through the linen of his suit, and he turned his face up in time to feel the kisses of the rain drops on his smooth skin, could hear the little sighs of pleasure the air gave as it ruffled his blond hair. How the world loved his being. He closed his eyes and imagined a world of green, of forests filled with mystery, of spiraling turrets and stained glass windows, of a sadness which permeated the very earth and made the ground sodden. He reached out for it with his mind, his spirit, and the city noise—loud and gusty, filled with life—faded gradually. But already he was thinking of the door he has swept shut, of the time he had first come here. He had been sleeping on the _couch_, a sort of pseudo-bed, and had opened his eyes feeling daring, dangerous, just a little desperate.

~0~

_Back then_

The morning air woke him. It was cold and refreshing. Almost septic. It had none of that crisp, spruce tint which he so strongly associated with his old home. There was no scent of old oak, of arrogant hickory trees and the white satin of belladonna. The air was cold and metallic, aromatic of greasy oil and purple smog.

The year two-thousand-and-eleven. Year of the Rabbit. How long had he slept this time? He had become disillusioned with the wasteland of humanity and had slept long in his stone room, slumbering the sleep of the quasi-divine. Sleeping the sleep of the near-immortal. He had awoken a while back only to find the world converted into the antechamber of hell itself. The sky was full of fire and old Europe, the ancient continent was an inferno. He had seen rumbling metal monsters and streamlined weapons flying the skies like the angels of old. And so, overwhelmed, he had returned to his womb and slept again.

But now, it was a different world, an infinitely futuristic one. Horseless carriages and metal boxes which held secret flames which could be summoned with the snap of a wrist. Glass bulbs in the ceilings from which sprung forth smokeless, odorless light as clean as a newborn's skin. Tiny box like structures in which humans lived in luxury like regal ants.

And this man! The man who had let him in was another species altogether. Green hair! At first Sanji had thought that the world had somehow sprung forth a type of plant-people. Maybe a strange sort of gnome or dwarf that had bred with moss or trailing ivy. But it seemed that the man was no different than anybody else. No powers, no abilities, no strange and cursed blood in his veins. Nothing. The man was a simple human.

Which was fine with him since it facilitated things. But he would have to be careful. Already he was pushing the limit. The constant excursions into the other's head which were causing the brief moments of vertigo and confusion the other must have felt, would become obvious soon. He would have to stop opening the man's mind and rummaging through it; flipping pages like it was his own personal encyclopedia. The man's normal mind could not handle the intensity of his presence inside, his entity was ancient, a paradox—no human vessel could ever support the weight of his years, of his existence.

Already he was pushing too strenuously on the hidden boundaries of restraint. The man had had no intention of letting him into his house, but all Sanji needed to do was toss the idea into the man's voice. That cajoling, let-us-be-sensible voice which _Zoro_ had felt had not been his humanitarian sensibilities urging him. It had been Sanji Schwarzbein, the strange being whom even the ancient mages had been befuddled on to what he _actually was_.

Of course it had been beyond easy to slip the worm of the idea into the poor human's head. The man had taken it up and fed it food and water, believing it to be his. And Sanji had managed to acquire a place to sleep. But he needed to be careful about using his abilities.

He didn't want the other man to realize, to take note of what he was.

He wanted to forget it himself.

That's why he was here, really. He wanted to live without magick, without preternatural pretenses obscuring true life from his vision. No more ancient tales about his dubious origins, no more watching eyes, no more.

~0~

He crawled out of bed, yawning widely, bemused at the strange dreams he had been having all night. In his dream he had picked up a handsome blond in a raggedy suit. The blond had spoken like an aristocrat from the tenth century and had somehow convinced him to let him sleep on the couch.

Zoro opened the blinds in his room and padded out of his room, mind already on the bacon strips and left-over pancakes from the day before yesterday, waiting patiently on the bottom shelf of his plain and unoriginal Amana fridge. The bright sheath of true blond hair caused the spittle to dry up in his mouth—all of a sudden there wasn't enough moisture for his tongue—it felt large and thick, stuck to the roof of his mouth. The living room seemed vacuum sealed, tight, the pressure approaching lethal levels, all due to that man, that man, that extraordinary being sitting on his plain red leather couch. Legs crossed. Fucking legs _crossed._

The strange aristocrat from his dreams sat on the couch, legs crossed, staring out the window. As Zoro gaped, he turned his head and smiled. A smile that parted pale coral lips and shone like the sun. Unearthly, the beauty in that simple, divine gesture. He stopped, stupefied, the reaction of a man who, out hunting, has stumbled upon a unicorn, magnificent neck down, white hair shining velvety-satin, as it drinks from the pool. He could only stare, hackles up, mouth drawn into a thin, white line.

"Good morning, Sir. Did you sleep fine?" Words that resonated as he had never heard them resonate before. Speech was new, delightful to the ear, coming from this man. They fell like musical notes, a symphony of tones and tinctures. Zoro could only listen to the words, comprehension lagging afterwards, tiredly. A sore marathon runner trying to outrace the gusts of wind that fly beside.

"I—I—What are—" He stuttered, trying to formulate a half-comprehendible sentence. The aristocrat had not been just a figment of his dreams! Had he actually picked up a homeless stranger last night and allowed him to sleep on the living room sofa? What the hell had he been thinking—doing something so stupid and naive as that? He—the man who kept to himself, the man who scrutinized every word and action for an ulterior, malicious motive?

"Do not fear," the blond said, waving a hand negligibly, "I am not a phantom or a mirage, neither am I specter from another realm, here to claim your soul. I am not a vampire looking for prey, nor an angel searching for one to save. I am not God nor am I the Savior returning to the world of material. Not a demon, not a daemon, not a ghoul or a ghost, not a doppelganger, not a fairy, not a gnome, not a spirit, not three-headed Bael, nor the hairy Beelzebub. Not lowly Ukobach of the infernal dungeons, nor kingly Gabriel, the heavenly archangel. Have no surprise, no fear, no suspicion, my good man; I am simply a homeless man—what you would call a _bum_—that you were kind enough to offer hospitality to last night. Do you not remember?"

His tirade was nothing short of stunning, the long list of what he was _not_ confused Zoro more than as if the other had admitted to being of supernatural origin. Again, the idea that the man was insane gripped his mind; but the calm, lucid, intelligent light that sparkled in the sapphire oceans of the other's eyes dispelled that idea, and quickly too. It went, embarrassed, and covering its privates.

Zoro clapped a hand to his forehead and dragged it through his short spikes, "Well—I thought it was a dream, I can't believe it actually happened, I mean—I never do stuff like that—" It was all coming back to him, the details which made it really real. Red rose real. Last night seeped into his nerves: the despairing face, the contorted features of a man on the brink of some indescribable abyss—not death, but perhaps something worse. Events so surreal that his subconscious had filed them away as mere dreams. But the reality was sitting right before his eyes. The reality was a royal blond, had striking azure eyes, had peach skin, had a strong jaw with a kiss of wispy hair clinging to the strong chin, had high cheekbones, curly blond eyebrows.

He flushed and moved to the kitchen, "Sorry, I thought it was a whole dream for a minute there. Just—Sorry. _Fuck_."

"No need for apologies," the man said smoothly, "In no way was I offended or my honor called into question. I understand this is very difficult, as a man, to come across me in such a situation. Your stoic and cynical exterior will fade soon enough. I warrant."

Zoro's hands jittered on the coffee machine and he said bluntly, "Why the_ hell_ do you speak like that? It's creeping me out."

There was a slight pause and the man said from behind him slowly, "I…am foreign. I learned my English from old guides. _Ancient_ tomes, you understand. And so…the language is outdated, archaic. It might sound a little funny to your modern, colloquial vernacular."

"We call is slang," Zoro said irritably, not at all mollified, "And I don't see why it seems you haven't seen anything invented after eighteen-twelve. How'd you get here anyway? Why didn't you rent a hotel or something? How did you get to this part of L.A? When are you going?"

"Hold, hold," the man chuckled, "Not so many questions at once! I am European, as I told you before. A small country. Near present-day Germany's borders. I arrived here yesterday."

"Did you fly here?" Zoro persisted, "LAX airport?"

There was a slight pause from the couch. And then, "Why yes. The regional airport." And then as if he was pronouncing something unpronounceable and unfathomable, "Del-ta Air-ways."

"Huh," Zoro grunted, cracking some eggs out on the pan, "Always fly Continental."

"I will remember." The man's voice was highly amused, as if he was in on an extraordinarily humorous joke that only he could fathom.

The silence spun out and Zoro felt a crease work its way onto the smooth board of his forehead. He coughed, "So, when are you going to clean out? I'm not a generous man,"

"So I have noticed."

He bristled. It was stupid, the guy was little more than a bum, but he felt annoyed that this man should judge him and find him lacking in hospitality, especially when that was _his_ couch that that blond's ass was lolling on.

"What's that supposed to mean? Eh?" He said sharply. The egg broke in his hand before he could split it on the pan. The yellow yolk dribbled across his fingers and he cursed inwardly. He fumbled off a bowl from the heap of clean dishes next to the sink and stuck the broken egg into the clean, white bowl.

"It's obvious you aren't a generous man, or a kind one," the man continued silkily, "When you were under the impression that I was at the verge of taking my own life, you interfered in fear for my safety when countless others had already passed me by without a glance. When I denied your assistance, you persisted, doggedly. When I needed a place to stay, you allowed me in. Allowed me to rest my head on your hearth without asking anything in return. It is clear that you are neither generous, nor kind, You are truly a merciless _brute_." But he caressed the word so that it could have been an endearment whispered by an inspired lover.

Zoro felt the warmth flood his cheeks and he concentrated on cracking the rest of the eggs and whisking them to a yellow oblivion. He didn't like the way the stranger curled the words in his mouth, how he let them slide from his tongue like a serpent.

"When are you going?" He asked again. It was time for the man to move on so he could return to his solitude. The cold, meditative silence of his mornings. There had been enough intrigue to last him a lifetime.

"Are you so eager for me to leave then?" The strange asked softly. "Even you."

"I can't let you live here," he snapped, "Just go home. You don't belong here. Go back to wherever your home is, okay? I'm sorry I stuck my nose in your business last night—but this is going too far."

There was a steep, thick silence. A curdling, rotting silence. The hiss of steam the pan made as he poured his scrambled eggs onto the hot Teflon surface was obscene in the chasm which had opened. Zoro swallowed audibly in an attempt to dislodge the dry hump in his throat and strained his eardrums for the reply.

"Ah."

The reply was barely more than a whispered sigh. A sigh that came from deep within the caverns of the soul and floated up the neck and throat, only slipping from the mouth as a dry leaf slips painlessly away from the stem of a tree. Zoro winced at the sound of melancholia, so intense was the desolation it harbored, so potent the resignation.

Zoro twisted his back to see the man on the couch. The blond gave a small, rueful laugh and gave a small gesture in Zoro's direction. "I am sorry…terribly sorry…but you see, I have nowhere to go, nor a home to return to. I have no past, no discernable future. I have no friends, no family, no means to return to where I came from, and even if I did, I would not go." The man smiled, "For I do not belong there as well. I belong nowhere—I am a rolling stone, a seed drifting on the wind. Always the misfit, the outcast, the exile. Drifting forever. That is the fate that Providence has meted out onto me and so I will drift, beholden to nothing and no one, forever, until someday perhaps I will be able to rest and close my eyes and so escape this hell I'm living."

"I—I don't understand," he said thickly. For the melancholia so deeply-set in the lines of the man's young-old face had caused a lump to rise in his throat. The gentle words, miserable beyond description, were strangely moving. "What's wrong? What the hell happened to you?" Something practical and coldly logical within him issued a warning for him to not get so close, so involved emotionally.

"I am trying to forget," the man answered simply, "I am trying to take all those memories, all those countless memories, memories as infinite as the stars, I am trying to lock them away forever. I want to forget, I want to forget everything. I will lose myself in this world, where no one knows me and forget who and what I am, forget everything, even my own name. I will seek happiness amongst the people-folk."

"People-folk?" Zoro repeated, stupefied.

"People," the blond answered, smiling in that precious way which illuminated his countenance and made it sweet, "People, I meant."

He stared fixedly at the blond, "And what the hell do you expect me to do? I'm sorry that you had a horrible life—but that has nothing to do with me." He knew the words sounded blunt, harsh, inhuman even. But it was the truth.

The man shrugged and smiled, "Yes, I could not agree more. What business is it of yours that I have been through the seven levels of Ghenna? What business of yours is it that I have only had a life not worth the tears I've shed over it? That is none of your business. Yet—would you not hold out the hand of friendship to me? Without knowing anything of me, without any foundations of trust, would you revive my faith in life? You wished to save my life last night…"

The words were coming in a flurry now and Zoro just stared at the man through it all, noting the blond's fevered eyes, the snap of blue fire in the irises. There was a strange form of outraged desperation in his flushed checks, in the slant of his brow. It was more as if the man was challenging him, issuing forth a declaration, not a plea.

"…you, even if you did not know anything, you took responsibility of me, You feared my death and attempted to intervene. Is that not so?"

"Yeah, but—" Zoro interjected, feeling as if the situation was unrolling itself far too rapidly. It was a rope, sliding frighteningly fast through his hands, not allowing him to secure a good grip.

"So," the blond interrupted hurriedly, "What would you do if I told you that perhaps you did save my life last night? What if I told you that I was wishing with all my strength that I had the courage to throw myself off the edge and plummet to indescribable pain. The closest I can get to death—death, death which I seek with all the fortitude of my spirit?"

Half the words simply passed over him, but he gleaned enough to point an accusing finger at the man on the couch, "Ah-hah! You _were_ thinking of killing your stupid self, you freaking idiot! You're so stupid! I knew I wasn't such a moron!" Zoro didn't think that triumph at this moment was appropriate, but for some reason he didn't think that the man would take offense. More, a rather crude and primal instinct informed him that the blonde would not only not be offended, but amused.

The blond opened his eyes wide and placed a hand over his heart, "What? If you had been through what I have been, if you had seen the things I've seen—you too would seek to make an end of yourself."

"No I wouldn't. Idiot," Zoro snorted and went back to his cooking.

"Yes you would fool. Believe me."

He turned back and treated the man with his best, _fuck-you_ smirk. "No. I wouldn't."

The man flushed and said hotly, "Brute! You do not know anything! You know nothing! What can you know—you've only lived a few paltry years—mere flashes of time—I could hold your life in the palm of my hand! Your entire life!"

"You look as old as me, if you don't mind me saying," Zoro retorted, "Younger even. You're what twenty-three? Twenty-five max. Older and I'll eat my shirt. But to hell with all that," he said, getting excited in spite of everything, in spite of his earlier reservations, "I don't care what the hell I go through, I would _never_ suicide. That's tantamount to giving up and it's probably one of the worst things that you can possibly do. There's nothing after."

"Nothing after? Are you a non-believer then?" The man asked sharply.

"If you want to call it that," Zoro said protectively, "If you want to put a label on everything."

The blond shrugged flippantly, "Please yourself. If you believe there is no God—perhaps he cannot break through to you in order to make his presence known and so you are incapable of faith."

"I take it you're a man of religion," Zoro stated with an ironical raise of his eyebrow.

"I have touched the very face of God," the man said dreamily and fell into a distanced silence.

Zoro started, realizing that he had been staring at the tilt of the man's head and the curve of his cheek and lips for a minute or two. Time seemed to have elapsed as he let his eyes roam and he turned back to his eggs which were almost baked black. He almost jumped when the man behind him suddenly resumed the conversation with heat. Zoro turned off the stovetop and turned back, drawn to the face like a moth to flame. The blue eyes were like twin coals, burning blue.

"So, stranger, let us say that now I am living—all because of you. You pulled me from the edge and cheated me of escape. Take responsibility! I have nothing, nowhere—will you not at least aid me in returning to life?" The steel eyes flashed and snapped and a sudden grin flashed out like the sharp glint of a dagger flashes out in the darkness, right before the strike, "Why, I have just been struck by a flash of inspiration—I propose a game, swordsman!"

Zoro's heart lurched at the title. His mind flashed back—had he ever mentioned to the man that he was an experienced fencing student? That he loved the sword as he loved a woman? Never, he was sure of it. Where then had the man discovered that he was a swordsman?

But the interloper continued to talk, in that same feverish voice, as if he were afraid that his proposition would be refused before he could even articulate it completely, "it is a fine game dear Sir. I propose a challenge! You say that life is worth living, that you would never voluntarily quit it. I admire your enthusiasm. I respect your determination, your supreme innocence. So, if there is anyone in this world who can teach me how to live life as it should be lived, I believe it is you good gentleman. Teach me how to enjoy the world! Let me look through your eyes. If you win—and maybe you will—I will recognize you, your assertion—if you lose, I think that to man such as yourself, that is enough—"

Of all the moments thus far, this was one of the most thunderstruck moments that Zoro experienced. He tried two times to speak before managing it, "What—Are you trying to make a bet with me? You want _me_ to teach you how to live? What the hell are you talking about?"

Two hectic spots flared in the man's slightly sunken cheeks, "Well, do you accept or not? If yes—then I stay here and we play our game. If no—I get up, ask your forgiveness for having abused your hospitality for so long, and walk out the door to resume my never-ending search. Choose quickly! Do you not think that I know full well the shame in my position?"

"Wait!" He said loudly, putting a hand up, "Wait just a damn minute. If I agree to this lunacy, what the hell am I supposed to do? Keep you here? Just to try to get you back on your feet? And if I say no—you're not just going to 'walk out' are you? You're going to leap off the next skyscraper you see, aren't you?"

"Possibly," the man said.

"Do you know what position you're putting me in?" he said, outraged,:"If I say I refuse to play this stupid thing with you, I'm basically writing your death warrant."

"Go ahead," the man said and smiled again, sweetly, so sweetly that Zoro flushed red, "Renew my faith in life. Make me believe in hope. In love."

If there had been a joking, amusing mood, it had dissipated entirely. The thick, curdling silence stretched out between the two. Zoro held the man's gaze, scoured his intentions as thoroughly as he could, searching for a hint of mockery, of treachery. But all the eyes held was a deep, probing light of hope. Everything in him that was stoic, logical, practical, urged for a definite end to this business. To sweep up the stranger and throw him out. The man was bluffing—hoping to swindle him of room and board on the threat of suicide. It was nothing more than a scam.

But his mouth didn't seem to want to open to tell the man to get out. They just stared each other, him trying to see through the man, the other meeting his eyes, persuading.

"But if I win…what do I get besides saving your life?" He finally said. "I know it sounds shitty, but I should have at least some compensation—"

There was a second of thought on the other's part and then the blond raised his hands and brought them to the back of his neck. Zoro just watched intently as the blond unfastened something from underneath his ragged suit and brought it out. Zoro hadn't noticed it in on his neck before, but then the suit had covered it almost completely and he hadn't really been looking at the guy's neck last night. But now, his eyes widened in spite of himself, even he who wasn't easily fazed my material things, was amazed.

A solid gold collar lay on the palm of the stranger, face up. It was true gold, Zoro could tell on sight. The way it looked greasy, the dull shine—and it was encrusted with precious stones that were to elegantly set to be anything but fake. And in the middle, formed by what looked to be black diamonds, alternating with garnets and rubies, was a heavy seal. A strange symbol, archaic and brutally complicated was surrounded by more strange symbols circling the seal.

"There's no way that that's real."

The stranger didn't answer, but instead hefted it and sent it lobbying over. Zoro caught it with both hands and issued a grunt of surprise at the weight. Seven-eight pounds, minimum. "You wear this around your neck?"

The blond just smiled and lifted one shoulder lazily, "Is it real then?"

Zoro shifted the collar in his hands and examined the clasp at the back. It was intricate and cunningly shaped. It too, was solid gold. The rocks on the front were beautiful, and though he was no jeweler, he interpreted the clarity of the rock and the small, minute flaws in some of them to be enough proof as to their authenticity. If the whole damn thing was real, then he could be holding ten, twenty million in his hands. More.

"Is it real then?" The man persisted.

He swallowed and traced a finger across the rocks, "The gold is…"

"The gold was mined in Central America around the time the _conquistadores_ came to the Aztecs and Mayans. This collar was fashioned by a famous Aztec jeweler. Do you know why that is evident in the work?" The tone of the blond had assumed a friendly, scholarly tone, and Zoro found himself captivated. Perhaps it was the strangeness of the situation, perhaps just the fact that he was holding something in his hand that was worth more than he could make in his lifetime. And something which was positively ancient.

"Because they used a shitload of rocks?" He asked, half-kidding.

"That—and do you see the settings of the gems?"

Zoro brought the collar to his eye and examined the settings—they looked to be made of rock themselves, green, except the name of that particular substance escaped him. And suddenly he remembered—"It's jade."

"Jade!" The man nodded with a sort of quiet satisfaction, "Do you know what the Aztec emperor said of the Europeans and their bloodthirsty conquest of gold? He said, 'Thank God that they do know of jade, for which we would give up all our gold for' or something of the sort. The rocks were imported from different countries, especially those of Africa."

"What's this?" Zoro traced the heavy seal with his finger, rolling the pads of his fingers on the circular path of the black and red gemstones.

"The infinite struggle between good and evil. Yet, how one cannot live with the other. The cosmic power of duality, in short."

"Obviously," he said sarcastically. "All I see are two little things that look wrapped in each other."

"Of course," the man said, smiling, "Duality. One is supposed to represent good, the other evil."

"Which one's evil?"

"That's for the wearer to decide."

Zoro smiled in spite of himself, "Clever," he grunted.

The blond only smiled.

He traced the runes around the edge of the seal, "And this?"

A frown creased the blond's face. It was like a shadow on a fresh spring day."It means, "Even angels wield revolvers." Something like that, it is rather hard to translate, it has several meanings. I once heard a man say that it meant, "The angel's revolver exists." And another translated it as, "Angels will wield the revolver.""

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" Zoro muttered, his hands turning the gold collar around and around, his fingers running across the smooth surfaces of the gems of their own volition.

The man shrugged and the frown disappeared as he gave a little laugh, "I'm certain that it is a proverb somewhere. About the intimacy of good and evil. Of the inability to separate situations and declare anything concretely."

"I can believe that," he said and hefted the collar in both hands before tossing it back. The blond caught it with only one hand, as easily as if he had been tossed a tennis ball.

There was a slight pause and then the blond said, his voice light and breezy, casual and just right. "Well, should I put this on and stand up, clasp your hand, and walk out? Or should I leave this here on the table, our wager?"

He should have realized that the stirring sense of excitement, the emotions of challenge and interest were foreign, belonging no more to his spirit then the blond stranger belonged in his house. Later, he would look back and realize that his will had not been his own, the choice had never been that—a choice. The stranger had manipulated everything, everything.

But by then he was drowning in his own love and the drowning was fine and he did not care at all that Sanji had inserted himself so centrally in his life. Not at all.

~0~

_Thank you for the support, it is duly appreciated. _


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